In Between Goldman's Pages : A Princess Bride Fanfic
by Gokfacha
Summary: In the face of danger, does Buttercup really need Westley? As lovers make their way through the Fire Swamp, Buttercup falls into Snow Sand and is transported to an alternate universe. While reading William Goldman's The Princess Bride for her class, a modern day female student is somewhat-literally sucked into that same universe. When the two meets, what will happen?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

If I met Buttercup in not-real life:

It was a typical, horrible Wednesday full of back-to-back lectures and discussions and lectures and discussions. As I was walking from one class to the next, I was re-reading that one passage in William Goldman's _The Princess Bride_ in which Westley leads Buttercup through the Fire Swamp, every Florin/Guilder child's nightmare. Coincidentally, just as I was reading about Buttercup falling into Snow Sand, my feet stopped feeling the ground and I stumbled and fell face-first into what looked like a pile of sand on the edge of Ring Road. My roommate quickly whipped out her phone to Snapchat my embarrassment, but even before she could let out a laugh, I was gone.

It was like I was falling through a cloud. I was just falling through this soft powdery mass, falling farther and farther from anything resembling life, and I just really wanted to sleep. Except, shoot, I have to start on my Rhetoric In Practice Project for my Writing 39B class.

Using ninety percent of my willpower, I forced my eyes open and realized two things: (1) I was in someone's arms and (2) The person was rocking me. I looked up and immediately noticed that her hair was the color of autumn and her skin was like wintry cream, whatever that is. Buttercup. William Goldman's Buttercup from _The Princess Bride_. Butter-dimwitted-cup was holding me and rocking me like a baby. I gawked at her innocent, confused face for a good minute before looking around and realizing that I was no longer on Ring Road, or anywhere near campus.

There was white sand everywhere; it was as if we were engulfed in a sand tornado and the world was just spinning and spinning and spinning. I shut my eyes again, reasoning that this was probably just some weird side effect of the ultimate combo: overdosing on caffeine, fatigue, and stress. I opened my eyes and there was Buttercup's flawless face again. She was now whimpering and bawling her eyes out in the most beautiful way, if that is possible. I rolled my eyes.

"What is it?" I asked.

More whimpering. More tears. More beautifulness.

"I am apart from my dear Westley."

More eye rolling.

"Do you know where we are?"

Miraculously, she became quiet for a moment. Her eyes lit up like she just came up with a wonderful rationalization of all this craziness and a way to return to our own realities. For the first time since I found myself in her arms, I felt a glimmer of hope.

"Don't worry. Westley will save me."

And all hope was lost.

"Really-"

Before I could finish my sentence, there was a thunderous rumble like a thousand drums being pounded on simultaneously and all the sand that was surrounding us began to disappear without leaving a trace. The ground became solid again. Oh, the earthly feel of grass and soil. It was dark, but with the lights from the moon and the stars, I was able to make out what looked like a small cottage in the distance. Other than that, it was all grass and hills.

I got up and pulled Buttercup up with me. Her tears had long dried and she was now smiling and going on and on about her Westley. I grabbed her wrist and began power-walking towards the cottage. It was our best bet.

"Perhaps there will be someone there who can explain everything and help us," I reassured myself. (Buttercup was still singing something about her Westley.)

As Buttercup and I got closer to the cottage, I noticed a bright light glowing from within, beaming out the tiny window. White smoke and bubbles were floating out the chimney and the smell of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air.

"Hey, maybe there's food," I whispered hopefully.

My stomach growled. Buttercup's stomach growled. Buttercup had finally become quiet and in the still of the night, all that could be heard was our stomachs growling. And they got louder and louder.

"Aye, aye, aye, who be making such noises in the middle of the night outside our home?"

A hiss and multiple shrieks came from within the cottage. Deep, roar-like laughter echoed. The banging of some pots and pans and a plate shattering. Some shuffling. Chairs and tables being moved around. Footsteps. And finally, the creaking of the wooden front door.

Buttercup and I turned and stared at each other, our eyes filled with fear. For once, we were on the same page.


	2. Chapter 2

Standing before us was the strangest trio I have ever seen.

The man in front was dark, Sicilian perhaps, with a smug face, looking down on us, on stilts. (He was only about an inch taller than us, on his stilts.) He had his shoulders rolled back and chin held up high, exuding a dominating presence. He slowly and cautiously took a step toward us, almost falling off.

Buttercup giggled.

The Sicilian glared at her.

I glared at the Sicilian.

The other two remained rooted by the door. The second, also dark, probably Spanish, hunched-over and round, sorta like the big bowl he was holding in his hands. The third man, mustachioed, perhaps a Turk, was easily the most petite man I have ever seen.

"Well, well, well, what have we got here?" the Sicilian mused as he jumped off his stilts, abandoning them.

He was much shorter, but still smug and proud. He gracefully glided toward us.

"Th-th-that's the Princess of Florin! The one we shall chop, chop, chop!" the petite Turk suddenly exclaimed excitedly.

"Shhhh! Don't let them know our plan!" the Spaniard shushed the Turk as he nervously glanced at Buttercup and me.

A red flag went up in my head. This was not good. They were planning on killing Buttercup and we walked right into their trap. Oh, how I would much rather be sitting in class, back in my real life, than be here, about to be killed by association.

Buttercup, still oblivious, simple-mindedly smiled and waved in their direction, making me roll my eyes yet again.

"But she's so beautiful. Do we really have to kill her?" the Turk asked.

"Yeah, do we? Let's just kill the other one!" the Spaniard chipped in.

I was appalled by their rudeness.

"Hold your stupid tongues," the Sicilian commanded, turning back to glare at them.

The Spaniard and the Turk immediately hushed.

"Hey, that's not very nice," Buttercup said, wagging her fingers at the Sicilian.

"Women shouldn't speak," the Sicilian growled as he raised his hand to strike her.

At that point, I had enough of these three, especially the sexist Sicilian. Swiftly, I took out a handy-dandy bottle of pepper spray from my backpack and aimed it straight at his eyes and kicked him in between his legs as hard as I could.

Buttercup stared at us, wide-eyed. She was finally starting to grasp the situation. As the Sicilian screamed and jumped around in pain, the Turk ran forward to aid him and the Spaniard came charging at Buttercup and me with his big bowl.

"C'mon, Buttercup! Help me out here! Do something!" I yelled as I charged toward the Spaniard with my bottle of pepper spray and limited knowledge of self-defense.

Suddenly, the Spaniard halted and yelled for me to wait.

"Let's play fair. I see you have no bowl."

I didn't stop and continued charging at him.

"Here, I shall give you this bowl and I shall go get another bowl for myself, from inside the cottage."

I was right in front of him. My pepper spray was ready.

"And then we shall fair-"

I sprayed him in the eyes.

He let out an agonizing shriek and dropped the big bowl.

The Turk gasped, holding on to the Sicilian, who was still writhing in pain on the ground.

By this time, Buttercup had made her way to where The shrieking Spaniard and I was. She picked up the big bowl.

We locked eyes and I gave her an encouraging smile.

With all her might, she whacked the Spaniard's head with the big bowl. He swayed a little. She whacked him once more and he toppled over.

"Wow, that felt great!" Buttercup exclaimed, with a genuine look of surprise and glee on her face.

Just as I was holding up my hand to give her a high five, she pushed me aside. She was looking past me; her eyes were full of determination and locked at the Turk. She was confidently striding over to where he was.

"Woah, woah, lady, let me get ready first," he grunted as he roughly tossed the Sicilian aside and pushed himself off the ground.

Buttercup was exuding this new, fiery aura. She seemed so much more powerful next to the petite Turk. Why should she listen to someone who was part of a plot to kill her?

"You go, girl!" I cheered.

The Turk threw a fistful of pebbles at her.

She dodged them, whacking them to the side with the big bowl.

"You see, I could have hit you, but I missed on purpose."

"Oh, shut up!" I yelled over, as I finished tying up the knocked-out Spaniard's hands and feet with some ropes I found in his pockets.

Buttercup didn't say a word. She reached out and yanked his magnificent mustache as hard as she could.

"Owwwwwwww!"

Tears were streaming down the Turk's face as he stared at the handful of his hair Buttercup had yanked out.

She knocked him over with the big bowl.

By this time, the Sicilian had passed out too, probably from the pain.

I turned to Buttercup. We were both smiling uncontrollably. The adrenaline rush from all this. This would definitely be a cool story to tell when I get back to my real life.

"That was great! You didn't need Westley to save you."

"Oh! My Westley? I completely forgot about him!"


End file.
